


(Please Don't) Run, Barry, Run

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [21]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Background Character Death, Exhaustion, Guilt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “I have to be out there. Ihaveto save people. If I don’t, what good am I?”Hartley’s chest constricts as though a vise has locked around his heart. He knew Barry felt that way, but hearing it aloud is too much. “You’re not just the sum of the lives you save,” he says. His voice comes out too sharp, too harsh. He’s worried, but Barry will take it as a reproach. “You need to take time for yourself because you matter to me. You may not believe me, but it would break me to see you get hurt because you’re not taking care of yourself.”“The Flash is all that matters.” Barry says it quietly, as though he’s reminding himself. “I have to be the Flash. As long as I can run, I’m okay.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	(Please Don't) Run, Barry, Run

In retrospect, Hartley is glad they rested while they could. The days after their lazy day in are full of metahuman chaos. Barry runs himself ragged, to the point that Hartley finds him sleeping fitfully on the floor several times. 

“This isn’t healthy.” One such time, he bundles Barry onto the sofa, swaddles him in blankets, and darts into the kitchen to make him a protein shake. “Either let the rest of us take point on the next meta case or call off work for a few days to rest.”

Barry shakes his head. “I can’t. Singh only tolerates me because I barely take sick days—it makes up for being late all the time.” His voice trails away. When Hartley brings his protein shake to him, he’s slumped against the arm of the sofa, soundly sleeping. 

“Wake up, sweet boy.” Hartley taps his fingertips against Barry’s cheek. Loath as he is to disturb him, Barry needs to eat. He’ll collapse if he doesn’t (more than he already has). “Wake up.” 

Barry’s eyes flutter open. He stares blankly at the shake in Hartley’s hand, looking as though he’s deep in trance. (A small but vocal part of Hartley _would_ like to put him in trance; then he couldn’t disobey orders to rest and take care of himself.) “Huh?” 

“You need to get your energy back. Drink this.” Hartley puts the glass to his lips. Obediently, Barry sips, makes a face, and drinks some more. “If you won’t call off work, will you at least let the rest of us take point on the next meta case? Cisco may be happier in the lab than as Vibe, but Firestorm is ready…”

Barry shakes his head. “I have to be out there. I _have_ to save people. If I don’t, what good am I?” 

Hartley’s chest constricts as though a vise has locked around his heart. He knew Barry felt that way, but hearing it aloud is too much. “You’re not just the sum of the lives you save,” he says. His voice comes out too sharp, too harsh. He’s worried, but Barry will take it as a reproach. “You need to take time for yourself because you matter to me. You may not believe me, but it would break me to see you get hurt because you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“The Flash is all that matters.” Barry says it quietly, as though he’s reminding himself. “I have to be the Flash. As long as I can run, I’m okay.” 

Hartley will kill whoever gave him that idea. “You’re _not_ okay. This is the fifth time I’ve found you passed out on the floor. What if next time, you fall into something and hurt yourself? What if it happens during a battle? What will you do then?”

“I…” Barry curls in on himself. He’s too exhausted and bewildered to string a thought together, much less have it make sense—Hartley can tell from the look in his eyes. Instead, he’s falling back on the deepest-seated beliefs he has about his speed. “I won’t…I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

Hartley could argue with him, but it isn’t fair. He’s too exhausted; the only possible course of action is to tuck him into bed and ensure a full night’s sleep without meta interruptions. “Drink your shake, sweet boy. Then you’re going to go to bed and sleep.”

Barry hasn’t even finished his shake when his phone rings. Hartley lunges for it, but of course, he’s too slow. Barry stabs the ‘accept call’ button, listens grimly, and bolts to his feet. “There’s a chemical fire down by the docks. Cisco thinks there are workers still trapped inside. I have to go.”

“Ba—” He’s gone before Hartley can chide him. 

Some fifteen minutes later, the door swings open with a mournful _creak._ Hartley turns, confused by the lack of lightning. No sooner has he laid eyes on Barry than he jumps to his feet and runs. “What happened?”

Barry stands in the doorway, dripping wet. He doesn’t look up when Hartley takes his hands. “I didn’t save them,” he whispers. 

Hartley draws him into the apartment, making gentle cooing sounds as he does. The door has just swung shut behind them when Barry sinks to his knees. Hartley eases him down so they’re both kneeling on the floor. “Didn’t save them?” he probes. 

“I…” Barry pushes up his left sleeve and digs his short, blunt nails into the skin of his forearm. Hartley catches his hand and holds it still, despite Barry’s desperate attempts to claw his way free. “I ran, I was running them out, and then I woke up in the water and the fire was still going and three people _died.”_ With a convulsive movement, he tears his way free of Hartley’s grasp and rakes his fingernails along the delicate skin of his forearm. “I didn’t save them because I _fell asleep!_ Fucking selfish, pathetic…” 

“You are not to blame!” Hartley doesn’t mean to shout, but he doesn’t know how else to get his attention. Barry jolts and clenches his fingers so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You have run yourself ragged, you’re at your breaking point. Of course you fell asleep!”

“They died.” His voice breaks. Without warning, he curls into Hartley’s arms, clinging as though the embrace is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “They died, I didn’t save them…” 

Hartley rocks him back and forth. “How many people did you save?”

“Not all of them.” Barry’s voice quivers, damp-edged and congested. He’s crying. Hartley pulls him closer and rubs his thumb against the nape of Barry’s neck. 

“How many? I need a number.”

Barry gives a weepy little hiccup. “Eight,” he admits. Before Hartley can speak, he whimpers, “Three people _died.”_

“And eight of them lived.” Later, once Barry has slept, Hartley will join him in mourning the three dead dockworkers. Right now, with Barry blaming himself so vehemently, that would be the wrong thing to do. “You were running on two hours’ sleep and barely enough food, and you still managed to send eight people home to their families. And that’s in addition to all the lives you saved during this hellish week.” 

“It wasn’t enough,” Barry whispers. “I wasn’t enough.”

Hartley presses a lingering kiss to Barry’s temple. His hair is damp and smells faintly of the river. “You need to rest right now, sweet boy. Tomorrow, we can mourn the dockworkers. Right now…” He hesitates. Barry will be rightfully cross with him for this, but he doesn’t see another option. “I need you to melt for me.” 

“No,” Barry mumbles. He’s already going limp in Hartley’s arms. “N…no…have to…” 

What he has to do, Hartley never hears. (He assumes it involves going out and saving more lives as penance.) Within the space of his next breath, Barry is deeply asleep. With an effort, Hartley is able to drag him onto the sofa. 

“I’ve got the next meta case,” he promises. “Just sleep.”

While Barry rests, Hartley is called out to take care of not one but two separate meta robberies. He returns to the flat, bruised but victorious, to find Barry awake but motionless. 

“Sweet boy.” Hartley discards his flute and gloves on the coffee table and kneels by the sofa. Barry glances up at him. His gaze drops almost instantly back to his lap. 

“I didn’t save them,” he whispers. 

“And you have to live with that,” Hartley agrees. Now that the urgency of last night has faded, he doesn’t shy from admitting it. “But you’ve done so much in the last week—you saved so many lives. You can’t expect to save everyone, Barry, especially when you barely have the energy to run.” 

“Heroes don’t get breaks.” For the first time since the previous day, Barry meets his eyes. It affords Hartley a glimpse of anguish that he wishes he could steal away. His sweet, hopeful boy should never have a reason to feel like this. “I should be able to keep going…”

“You have a team,” Hartley reminds him. “Delegate. For the next several days, let me handle some of the meta cases, and give Firestorm the rest. Save your energy for things like fires where your speed is invaluable, and take Jesse or Wally with you if you need to. They need the practice, and you need the help.” 

Slowly, Barry nods. “You’re right. I just…”

“You’re not disappointing anyone.” Hartley catches Barry’s hand and brings it to his lips. “You’re human—powerful, but only human. Treat yourself as such.” 

Barry curls into his arms. He’s shaking—not at superspeed, but feebly, erratically. Hartley runs his hand down Barry’s back in long, slow strokes. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve it, but thank you.” 

Hartley holds him until the shaking subsides. Then, gently, he coaxes, “Let’s get some food into you. If today is anything like yesterday, you’ll need it.”

He’s in the midst of cooking bacon and scrambling eggs when the phone rings. Barry answers immediately, listens, and ventures, “Could…could you ask Firestorm to take this one?” 

Hartley hears Cisco’s “Oh! Oh, man, you’ve gotta be beat. Yeah, I can…I’ll just call them up.” He hangs up after firmly admonishing Barry to rest. It restores a little of Hartley’s faith in the team—of course they wouldn’t deliberately push Barry to his breaking point. Barry failed to let them know how imminent that breaking point was. 

“Thank you.” 

Barry rocks slowly back and forth. “I don’t like it,” he admits, “but you’re right.”

It’s far from a restful day, but that night, for the first time in a week, Barry is able to sleep a full eight hours. Admittedly, this is because Hartley takes another meta-call at two in the morning, but when he sees his speedster sleeping peacefully, he doesn’t mind in the least.


End file.
